


The Strain: Another Season Episode 9 - The Dismembered

by RosieBrookMeade



Series: The Strain: Another Season [9]
Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: AU: Gorgeous Sexy Dreverhaven, Abuse of Authority, Abused Feels The Guilt, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Collars, Doctor/Patient, Guilt Transference, I Burnt My Muffins Over This, Kissing, M/M, Nazis, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, One-Sided Attraction, Oral Sex, Other Things To Horrific To Tag, Power Imbalance, Restraints, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Sexual Threat, Slight Orgasm Delay/Denial, Speculum Use/Abuse, Will Get Dirty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieBrookMeade/pseuds/RosieBrookMeade
Summary: DON'T READ CHAPTER 4 OF THIS FIC. I don’t deserve any recognition for exploiting the holocaust in such an awful way.If you do and I still haven’t sold you on a young(ish) gorgeous Dreverhaven, then once again, feel free to imagine Eichhorst doing these things to young Abraham. I don’t intend to post an Eichorstified version of the offending scene because:Dreverhaven does some peculiarly doctorish things and...Well, you’ll see.Eichhorst dreams of an old friend.It has not been a good night for him but others are about to have a worse one.Co-written by the future Mr Brook-Meade.





	1. The Battle of Fet's

**Author's Note:**

> The fight scene (i.e. most of Chapter One) was written by my fiancé. He doesn't have an account so I can't credit him.  
> All I did was edit it into my "Another Season" telly voice and tweak a couple of things:  
> 1\. He thought Eichhorst's White had given Sandra combat superpowers and ditto Setrakian from Dreverhaven's blood. Wrong.  
> 2\. He imagined (and I can see why) that Gus hadn't got completely naked when he arrived at Fet's (end of Osculation) so he had him removing the boilersuit in one move (his idea, not mine - hmm) and fighting in his undies whereas I was convinced it had been a tackle-out scenario and fighting thusly would have made him feel too vulnerable, much as I would have enjoyed writing it that way.

Eichhorst’s Living Room, Stoneheart Building, Manhattan

No longer on Sandra’s screen, Thomas Eichhorst’s agonised writhing finally ends in a single whole-body spasm and he lies face down and motionless on his living room carpet.

* * *

Fet’s Place, Richards Street, Red Hook, Brooklyn

The SUV comes to a juddering halt with air bags inflated and intrusion alarm blaring. By some freak accident with the wiring, the indicators and headlights are NOT flashing.

For the space of a breath, everyone, human and _strigoi,_ is frozen – stunned by the impact. Then, as the dust and rubble settle, it becomes clear that someone has been caught in the wreckage. The still form of Dr Nora Martinez, is trapped between (and partly beneath) the vehicle and the collapsed stairway. There is no time for anyone to act as Kelly Goodweather and her host of vampires break out into the room.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Abraham Setrakian struggles back to his feet as a _strigoi_ leaps at him. He has no time to draw his blade and is armed only with an impressively multicultural range of curse words as he braces for the fatal blow. Which doesn’t come...

While the professor’s attacker inexplicably hesitates, Angel Guzman Hurtado (known as The Silver Angel in a previous incarnation as a Mexican wrestler) rams into the creature, hitting it expertly with two punches to the head. Angel’s silver, cross-shaped knuckle-dusters ensure that the _strigoi_ doesn’t get back up but lies extremely dead, his caved-in skull still steaming.

‘Grey power, man!’ grins Angel, rubbing his own silvery fuzz before turning away to face another attacker.

Setrakian gets to his feet in the calm behind Angel’s broad back and swooshes the silver sword from his cane. His eyes never leave those of the next _strigoi_ attacker. And the next. And the next. So focussed is he on the battle and the enjoyment of his returning strength that he fails to spot the fallen Nora.

\-----------------------------------------------------

The group on the other side of the crashed hummer are kept busy trying to repel assailants that have scuttled over the obstacle with ease.

Gus Elizalde has become separated from Angel by the sudden appearance of the car he borrowed from the New World Ancients. The loss of his comrade is of less concern to him than the state of his ride.

His guns drop from limp fingers as he stares in horror, hands reaching up to grip his ears, at the twisted corpse of tens of thousands of dollars-worth of shining beauty. Then he tilts his head upwards to howl a wordless lament at the hole through whence it came.

‘They’re gonna kill me!’ he screams, after a breath. ‘The Ancients are gonna fucking KILL me!’

\----------------------------------------------------

Vasiliy Fet has been faithfully defending Dutch Velders’ cabinet with his rebar and nailgun alongside Sandra Edwards and Reggie Fitzwilliam. The tall exterminator already has several dead _strigoi_ around him, whereas Reggie is proficiently picking off enemies at a distance with a semiautomatic pistol. Sandra is armed and fiercely protective of the cabinet but is demonstrating why she tends to shag her way out of dangerous situations. Whatever she practised in those Krav Maga lessons, it certainly wasn’t hand-to-hand combat.

Fet spots Gus mourning his hummer to the exclusion of all else and making himself vulnerable to any hungry vampire. He takes a couple of strides towards the Mexican and hooks the end of the rebar (bent by repeated striking of _strigoi_ skulls over the past fortnight) into the neck of the work overalls that Gus borrowed from him.

He gives it a good hard yank, presumably intending to pull Gus out of danger, but the fabric rips around the waistband and Gus is suddenly topless, making Sandra an even less effective fighter for a dreamy second.

Fet pulls a silver machete from a sheath on his back and hands it to Gus, just in time for him to use it to parry an incoming stinger attack. The feisty Mexican ducks under a leaping _strigoi_ but he skids on the long legs of Fet’s boiler suit and has to keep yet another stinger at bay with the unfamiliar weapon.

‘Fuck it,’ he exclaims, slashing at the overalls high up on the thigh. While he’s distracted, one of the creatures jumps him again.

‘Just take it all off,’ calls Sandra helpfully.

He sidesteps and lashes out with his blade, slicing cleanly through its lower jaw and decapitating it.

‘People might think I’m a vamp standing on its head,’ he retorts with a cheeky grin as he thrusts at the other foe. ‘Don’t want to lose nothing important in no friendly fire.’

‘Friendly slash,’ corrects Reggie sardonically, as Sandra acknowledges Gus’ boastful logic with a shrug and a grin.

Gus’ other opponent has retreated for a moment and waits out of range, hissing at him.

‘Come on, _pendejo_. Don’t I look tasty enough?’ he screams, tensing his body so his torso ripples.

Sandra emits a tiny, moaned “ _Mmm”_ and the _strigoi_ seems to agree. It charges and Gus, now looking like a gay Tarzan, slides beneath it as it pounces, stinger extended. The creature overshoots its moving target and the stinger slams into the floor above Gus’ prone head, with a horrible squelch. Immediately, Gus lashes back up at it with his machete and splits the stinger in two. While it recoils in distress, cradling its wounded appendage, Gus springs back upright, desperate to avoid the worms, and finishes it off.

Reggie Fitzwilliam is all quiet efficiency beside a screaming Sandra, or, more often than not, protectively in front of her. The only opponent that elicits any emotion from him is an immature _strigoi_ still sporting a shock of silver hair and a suit and tie. He grabs that one by its lapels with a primal scream and pulls it in close. He pulls his arm back and punches him hard enough to not only break his nose but also drive it a couple of inches into his skull. Then he twists the creature’s head all the way around with an expression of grim relish and pushes the corpse away in disgust.

‘Master race, my dimpled ass,’ he mutters and turns into the next assault.

\---------------------------------------------------

Zack Goodweather has become separated from his father and the rest of the group by the SUV demolishing the building, and has fallen over, slightly stunned by the impact. He gets to his feet, still a little dazed, and searches for the knife he was given for defence before the battle of Bolivar’s.

‘Found you!’ he squeaks in triumph before trying to get back to his father.

He clambers onto the bonnet using some rubble as steps. Halfway across, he spots Eph, also downed by the crash, and yells, ‘Dad!’ as he scrambles across the slippery metal towards him. He doesn’t notice his mother until she steps out of the SUV in front of him, adjusting her wig and trying to re-stick a recalcitrant eyebrow.

She stares longingly at her son for a moment and then, murmuring his name, she reaches out her arms.

Zack moves towards her embrace as if hypnotised, until Eph steps between them.

‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ Eph threatens Kelly. He has a sword in his hand but it is held at his side, not aggressively.

‘I want Zack,’ she replies, desperation an audible undercurrent in her tone.

‘You can’t have him,’ Eph screams, his desperation more overt, and he lashes out in rage. The attack is wild and easily dodged by Kelly who stoops down ready to counterattack at the next opportunity.

\---------------------------------------------------

Gus and Fet are fighting side by side, finding a rhythm between the two of them. Fet’s heavy hitting stuns the vampires as they come in and then the quick thrust and slash of Gus’ machete finishes them off. A small pile of dead _strigoi_ is building up on the floor around them but still they keep coming.  

\---------------------------------------------------

Setrakian and Angel are forming a less likely tag team on the other side of the workshop. The professor grunts as he lunges forward and thrusts his rapier through the throat of an approaching vampire just as it’s on the point of flicking out his stinger. He looks across to see Angel put his silver knuckle-duster through the face of another, burning a crucifix shape through the skull.

‘What are you?’ he blurts.

‘Luchador.’

‘What?’

‘Watch.’

Angel reaches out to a _strigoi_ trying to get between him and Setrakian and picks it up by its torso. Before it has a chance to fight back, he slams it to the floor and elbows it in the face, stunning the creature. A sword swipe from Setrakian makes sure that it doesn’t recover.

\---------------------------------------------------

The Feeler-girl, Lucille, who accompanied Kelly from Manhattan, scampers across the ceiling to disperse, or at least hamper, the most efficient _strigoi_ –dispatching unit of Fet and Gus.

‘Come on then, you little shit!’ Fet shouts as he spots her strategy and goes to meet her.

He jumps up, waving the rebar at her but she stays up there on all fours clacking at him as if mocking the big man’s ponderous movements.

Sandra notices the gap in the defensive ring around Dutch’s cabinet and fills it, screaming at Fet to stop mucking about and return to his post. _Strigoi_ spot the weak link and swarm her. Stingers flash towards her but are withdrawn before they reach flesh. Perhaps the silver tattoos and earrings are repelling them.

Fet’s Feeler opponent drops to the floor and keeps coming for him, easily dodging his rebar again and again.

‘Dammit kid,’ he yells in frustration. ‘Hold still so I can give you a good banging, will ya?

He takes a breath and watches her for a moment, then he swipes at her again as if testing a theory. She never seems to get too far out of range, dodging mainly from side to side. The next time he swings with the steel rod, he anticipates her movement. A feint sends her left where his backswing is waiting for her.

‘Hah,’ he gloats. ‘That didn’t feel so good, did it?’

She wipes her white blood from her chin and tries a different tactic. She begins to sway from side to side like a snake trying to mesmerise its prey. He does his best to anticipate the next move but it comes at such speed that he is still a little surprised. He manages to hit the Feeler but it is only a glancing blow and the girl lands on him, her stinger going dangerously close to his face.

Try as he might, he can’t seem to detach her from his chest as she clings on. At least he’s distracting her from latching her stinger to his throat.

Suddenly he glimpses movement from his side as Gus comes in kicking at the girl’s abdomen.

Fet feels the grip loosen and cries, ‘Again!’

He pushes with all his strength as Gus kicks and they shove the Feeler a few feet away. Fet opens his mouth but Gus has one of Sandra’s guns in his hand now and he fires at the vampire-child. Fet and the Feeler both jump with surprise and she lies dead on the floor.

\----------------------------------------------------

‘There’re too many of them,’ Reggie Fitzwilliam yells at Sandra. ‘I’m nearly out of ammo.’

She throws her last weapon at him but she throws as ineptly as she fights and he needs to lunge for it…saving him from a stinger thrust.

\----------------------------------------------------

On the other side of the ground floor, Zack watches as his parents square off against each other again.

‘I’m your wife!’ cries Kelly, on the defensive for the moment.

‘No you’re not!’ Eph retorts. ‘Nothing but infection there now.’ He steps in and lunges at her chest with his sword. She evades easily and spits out her stinger at him. It only just misses its mark but Eph has been expecting the attack and presses on into Kelly, knocking her off her feet. He raises his sword to stab downwards through her chest.

‘Mom! Dad! Stop!’ Zack shouts, raising his weapon between them.

Kelly gets back to her feet and turns towards Zack, saying gently, ‘My son.’ She sounds human, like her old self.

‘Our son,’ Eph corrects her gently. She turns back to him.

He looks down at Kelly looking up at him and, as if in a trance, he offers her his hand.

She looks at his outstretched hand for a moment, then she smiles - just like she used to. Eph smiles in return and Zak sighs with relief.

‘Our son,’ she repeats with a nod. And she takes his hand.

Eph lifts her up in an embrace. ‘I can cure you,’ he says. ‘Just stay with me and I can heal you. We can be a real family again.’

Kelly doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t need to – she is right where she wants to be.

The sight of his parents re-united, hugging and laughing is too much for Zack. He runs into their embrace, eyes wet as if his craziest dreams have come true.

\---------------------------------------------------

Some of the rubble coughs as Nora regains consciousness but no one notices. She dislodges some of the debris and muzzily surveys the scene around her. _Strigoi_ are everywhere, Setrakian and Zack’s Mexican babysitter in one corner and a group of four surrounding Dutch’s cabinet opposite them.  Eph is the closest but he and Zack seem to be tackling Kelly.

She slowly, painfully clears a path to get out but cries out when she moves her leg. It is bent, with a piece of fibula sticking out. She swears in Spanish but has to keep going because some _strigoi_ have spotted her now and are advancing on her position.

‘Eph,’ she croaks. ‘I need some help here.’

There’s no reaction but she can’t seem to shout any louder. She fumbles for a weapon and her hand wraps around a broken brick. She throws it at an approaching vampire. It glances off his head, taking some skin with it, which now flaps loosely at the side of his exposed skull. It looks at her curiously as if reassessing her as a threat. Another three _strigoi_ mimic the first, as their pack instinct guides caution.

Nora takes the opportunity to throw another brick but this one bounces uselessly off the creature’s chest.

At least this has bought her time to get her breath back. ‘Eph!’ she screams at him but there is no reaction from her ex-lover.

The _strigoi_ have clearly decided that she is the easy meal she initially appeared to be and leap in to finish her off.

The leader lands on Setrakian’s sword blade. He has slid across the bonnet of the hummer on his backside like a man half his age and timed his rescue move to perfection. You can almost hear the fanfare.

The other vampires turn and hiss at the new opponent. The professor yanks his sword out of the first _strigoi_ and cleverly feints a chop to behead it. One of the others takes the bait and charges at Setrakian. With a flick of the wrist, he turns his chop into a backswing and cuts straight through the new attacker. The other two keep coming but with more caution.

Nora tries to get to her feet but her broken leg folds up underneath her.

Setrakian spots her difficulties and tries to bait one of the vampires to attack using the sword cane’s sheath. The intended dupe ignores it but the other presumes the professor is distracted and spits her stinger out at him. However, it appears as if she begins to retract it as soon as it gets near him. He’s already dodging to the side and he traps the appendage with his foot before severing it near the base. The vampire is left squealing and flailing hysterically, allowing Setrakian to concentrate on the final enemy.

The last _strigoi_ tries a different tactic and dodges from side to side evading the precise thrusts from the professor. It edges closer and closer to its target. Until its head is blown off by Gus arriving to help them both.

‘Can you help me lift her?’ Setrakian asks him.

Nora now notices that her hero is bleeding profusely from a wound on his knee.

All thoughts for her own safety evaporate and she grabs his leg for a closer look. ‘You’re hurt,’ she says, panic in her voice.

He kneels down and pats her reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘Just a scratch from the rubble, my dear. No _strigoi_ have got near me. You can patch me up when you are stronger.’ He tries a smile but he is long out of practice.

He nods at Gus to lift her up. ‘Why are you half-naked?’ she asks blearily but she doesn’t get an answer.

\--------------------------------------------------

They fight their way back to the group around the cabinet and place Nora on the floor next to it. Despite the number of dead vampires around, more still pour through the hole in the wall. Wave upon wave surge towards them, with more ferocity and less caution than before.

And now, the cabinet starts to grumble and then bang and rock and shout and swear.

Sandra is now completely unarmed, having given her weapons to Gus and Reggie but that hardly makes a difference to her battle effectiveness. She looks back at Dutch’s cabinet and then across at the curious _strigoi_ tilting their heads at it. She straightens up, sets her jaw and steps forward to do something stupid. More than usually stupid.

Reggie tries to stop her and they struggle viciously for a moment while the others are more heroic.

‘Let’s not let them have it easy,’ shouts Fet with grim finality.

‘Yep,’ Angel agrees from across the room, pulling on his Silver Angel mask for another Valiant Last Stand.

Everyone braces for the onslaught as a line of _strigoi_ come at them over the rubble.

* * *

 

Eichhorst’s Living Room, Stoneheart Building, Manhattan

Eichhorst lies on his face for nearly an hour but eventually he recovers sufficiently to drag himself, still covered in the musician’s blood, to his bed. He chunters to himself in barely coherent German, with only occasional fragments of griping becoming intelligible.

 _‘Grumble… grumble…_ Accursed louse… _groan… mumble…’_

He jerks his coffin out from under the bed, spilling some of the contents in the process, but hasn’t the strength to put it on top of the bed as was his human-imitating custom.

He growls and slithers into the cool sanctuary of his home soil - tuxedo, makeup, prosthetics and all.

He sighs with relief and curls up inside like a hungover student snuggling under a duvet.

He mutters one final comment.

‘So like Werner…’

And he dreams.

But _strigoi_ can’t dream as we do.

Just as they can’t create life or truly learn anything new, their brains lack the ability to generate the fantastical imagery of human dreams.

 _Strigoi_ can, of course, change human life into their own kind and their Sires can grant them access to the memory of new knowledge or a new skill, provided the Ancient has at some time in the past absorbed another human with such an ability.

Similarly, vampire dreams are pale shadows of those they had in life.

So Eichhorst remembers the past as it happened. _Exactly_ as it happened.

* * *

 

South East Flanders - November 1918

A handsome man in his late twenties with dark blond hair and a grey horse gallops up to an unpleasant scene, wearing the uniform of a _leutnant_ in the Imperial German Hussars.

An even more handsome boy with jet-black hair is lying on his side behind his badly injured mount, with his arm disappearing under the stricken creature’s tail. The boy has a nasty grin on his otherwise perfect face. He seems to be in his mid to late teens and he is in a _husar’s_ uniform.


	2. Tzeitel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle of Fet's concludes and Eichhorst dreams/remembers meeting a girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again the fighty bits are co-written by my fiancé.  
> Thanks honey.

* * *

South East Flanders - November 1918

A handsome man in his late twenties with dark blond hair and a grey horse gallops up to an unpleasant scene, wearing the uniform of a _leutnant_ in the Imperial German Hussars.

An even more handsome boy with jet-black hair is lying on his side behind his badly injured mount, with his arm disappearing under the stricken creature’s tail. The boy has a nasty grin on his otherwise perfect face. He seems to be in his mid to late teens and he is in a _husar’s_ uniform.

‘God in heaven, Hussar!’ cries the officer as he dismounts, looking shocked. ‘What in Hades are you doing to that poor mare?’

The boy removes his arm to show that he’s holding his bayonet but guarding it with a bloody hand to prevent damage to the horse’s bowels.

‘I’ve run out of bullets, Lieutenant, and she’s badly hurt,’ he explains. ‘I thought I could sever her aorta _per rectum_. Make it quick and painless.’

The young hussar’s mount is clearly _in extremis,_ with multiple pieces of  shattered cannon bone protruding from one foreleg and several feet of colon spilling out of a hole in her abdomen. Some ribs are exposed by a huge gash in her chest as well. The officer greens and turns away. When he turns back, his eyes have gone somewhere else and his jaw his tight as he shoots the mare between and just above her eyes.

‘Hurry up boy, the British are nearly upon us,’ the Lieutenant says. And indeed, pistol cracks and English cursing can be heard in the distance as he grabs the boy’s arm and drags him to a snorting, terrified grey.

He threads an arm through the reins and as he grasps the boy by the waist to hoist him aboard the charger, he catches sight of the lad smiling back at him in a very disturbing way. He makes the instant decision that the boy rides in front of him rather than behind.

He urges the horse into a canter and steers him (with some difficulty) to a building on the horizon.

They take refuge in a barn on the outskirts of a town. The horse is exhausted and so are they. They must rest.

‘You’re one of mine aren’t you, hussar?’ says the officer as he removes the panting horse’s tack. ‘I remember you from the skirmish at the church.’

‘Yes, Lieutenant Eichhorst. Hussar Dreverhaven, sir.’

‘You wanted to slaughter the entire village when the French surrendered. And I had to stop you firing at the English when they went to recover their wounded at the Somme.’

‘I was overcome by the scent of victory, sir.’

‘Huh! But weren’t you the one who wants to become doctor after the war?’

‘Yes, sir.’

A pause while the older man rubs down his mount with a handful of hay.

‘How old are you?’ he asks.

‘Eighteen, sir.’

‘How old are you _really_ , Dreverhaven?’

‘Fifteen, sir. I wanted to fight.’

‘Why?’ Eichhorst turns to look at his companion in disbelief.

‘For the glory of it.’

‘Have you experienced any of the glory of the war, hussar?’  The other man asks bitterly.

‘Oh yes sir, very much so,’ replies the enthusiastic Dreverhaven. ‘I’ve had a wonderful time.’

‘You enjoy violence on a grand scale?’ The officer stares at him, incredulous.

‘Violence is beautiful and ... and… well, when one is struggling for life and death with another man, it’s a perfect, ecstatic moment of intimacy. It’s almost erotic, sir.’

Eichhorst stares at him for a long time, a look of deep disgust on his face.

‘That is the most depraved thing I have ever heard, Dreverhaven,’ he says eventually. ‘And I believe that deep in your soul, if you have one, you must know that. ’

‘Would you prefer it if I said I enjoyed inflicting suffering on the enemies of the empire?’

‘If you meant it.’

‘Oh, I do, sir.’

The boy does indeed look as if he gains pleasure from causing pain but Eichhorst appears to doubt whether his sadism is as discriminating as the hussar claims.

‘Enemies,’ muses Eichhorst, after some time contemplating his young charge. ‘The British, I presume you mean. Or do you refer instead to one of the nations we invaded?’

The young man shakes his head. ‘Not anymore,’ he says darkly.

‘Oh,’ says the Lieutenant, now only half-interested. ‘Who are Germany’s enemies now, do you think?’

‘The Jews, sir.’ replies Dreverhaven definitely.

'Jews?'

‘Yes. We were winning the war and yet the Jews at home surrendered. And they’re bleeding the country dry. They’re a race of lying, cheating, underhanded criminals sir. Everyone says so.’

‘Everyone, Hussar?’ the older man raises his eyebrows sarcastically. ‘Even Levine and Rosenberg?’

‘Who are they, sir?’

‘The Jews who died covering our retreat,’ Eichhorst snaps meaningfully, before turning back to rug his horse with some old sacking.

This is evidently conversation over for now but eventually the officer orders, ‘Get some rest now, Dreverhaven. We’ll make a break for it just before dawn.’

Eichhorst sneaks out in the dark for a bucket of water for men and horse, blankets for the boy and hopefully some food for everyone, even if the two soldiers have to share horse grain.

The building they’ve taken refuge in is the haybarn of the dairy farm on a suburban estate. The main house is huge and Eichhorst catches sight of some of the family in their parlour, lit by two candles.

Shabbat candles.

They are Jews.

He creeps closer and stays to watch as the family complete the Havdalah ritual marking the end of the Sabbath. The older man has his heritage stamped all over his face but the others are fair and Germanic-looking, especially a young woman with her long blonde hair demurely covered. She is breathtakingly beautiful and young Eichhorst is transfixed. Her elders call her Tzeitel and after the candle flames have been extinguished and the fires relit, her younger brother teases her about all the suitors who have called during the week.

\------------------------------------------------------

Dreverhaven wakes to find a thoughtful Eichhorst standing at the barn door watching the stars in a frosty sky. He announces that he’s decided to stay and tries to persuade the boy to take his horse onwards to Germany, asserting that the border must be only a couple of hours’ trot away at most.

The boy doesn’t seem to want to leave his lieutenant alone. Perhaps he’s grown fond of him or he’s grateful for being rescued from the British. Or maybe he’s scared to leave on his own.

Whatever the reason for Dreverhaven’s reluctance, Eichhorst is adamant.  

‘Germany holds no future for me now,’ he says firmly, still with his back to the boy. ‘I’m a cavalryman, Dreverhaven, and trenches and tanks have made me as obsolete as the warhorse. I’m a nobleman when the empire is failing. I ride and I fight. That is all I know how to do. My world is vanishing, and with it any need for men like me. What else is there for me to do back home?’

He finally turns to address Hussar Dreverhaven directly. ‘ _You_ will become a doctor,’ he smiles down sadly at the boy. ‘And whatever kind of Germany rises from the corpse of the empire will need much healing. Go, my young friend and go soon. Leave me and make good use of your future. And, Dreverhaven…’

‘Yes, Lieutenant,’ he says respectfully.

‘Cultivate a better understanding of the meaning of the word “enemy”.’

The young man mounts and sets off but after a few paces, he swivels around in the saddle and calls back with much less deference, ‘You’ll find out, my dear Eichhorst. You’ll see I’m right!’

He kicks the horse into a canter and an open-mouthed Eichhorst watches him ride away until the cold moon no longer lights the boy's already-impressive physique. Then, smiling slightly to himself, he crawls under a pile of hay and blankets and falls asleep.

* * *

 

Fet’s Place, Richards Street, Red Hook, Brooklyn – The Present

Everyone braces for the final onslaught, as yet another line of Kelly Goodweather’s _strigoi_ come at them over the rubble. Angel Guzman Hurtado is trapped alone on the far side of the workshop but the vampires seem to be largely focussed on the main group around the cabinet hiding the increasingly agitated Dutch Velders.

Everyone, that is, except for the Goodweather family, newly and emotionally reunited. Dad Dr Eph Goodweather holds his son Zach and his _strigoi_ wife Kelly in a group hug and barely notices an athletic brunette slide down the roof of the SUV above his head.

Captain Lena Bartoli formerly of the NYPD, now head of the vigilante group known as the Force, bounces off the car bonnet and swings across the room on a heavy iron chain (no doubt a remnant of the building’s industrial dockland history), over the heads of leaping, snapping _strigoi_.

Angel has had a long career in show business, first as a Mexican wrestler, then as a movie hero and he knows when a new star is upstaging him with a grand entrance. He covers his head with his silver-knuckledustered hands and charges through the pack of _strigoi_ as they stare up at Lena.

The next thing the group defending the cabinet notices is the sudden appearance of an attractive woman between them and impending vampire sucking. Lena’s gun _pop-pops_ a few times and the first row are down, each one a clean kill with a bullet in the centre of the forehead.

Then a roaring sound heralds Angel’s return. He barrels through pushing two _strigoi_ towards Lena.

She twists and kicks one deep in the belly sending it to the floor. The other unfortunately lands and lashes out at Setrakian behind her. She quickly grabs its head top and bottom, stopping it from opening its mouth. Once she has the creature’s head firmly in her grasp, she drops to her knees pulling the vampire backwards and throwing him over her shoulder where he lands thrashing its head from side to side beside her. Without hesitation, she unsheathes a knife from a scabbard on her back and skewers it through the ears.

The next attacker gets swiped across its chest before she grabs the stinger with both hands and yanks it clean out through the poor creature’s mouth. The _strigoi_ drops dead at her feet and Lena uses the papillated proximal end to smack another assailant around the face.

‘Another way to kill ‘em,’ cries Fet gleefully. ‘Never seen it done like that before.’

Angel’s jaw drops and he glances at Gus, who says thoughtfully, ‘I have.’

‘Watch out for the worms,’ calls Setrakian but Lena ignores him, cutting through another stinger and decapitating the panicked vampire. She seems uncontaminated so far, though.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Kelly looks deep into Eph’s eyes and murmurs, ‘Come with me.’ There’s an edge of pleading but mostly it’s a statement of how things will be. She leads her family slowly up the damaged, unstable stairway and through the debris-strewn living area to the hole in the wall.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, the injured Dr Nora Martinez is lying grey-faced at the base of Dutch’s cabinet, chewing her cheek with the effort of not crying out in pain. Professor Abraham Setrakian is increasingly distracted by her plight and becoming vulnerable himself as a result. Fortunately, Lena Bartoli has a knack of always being where she is needed and she gets down to business.

She steps in and efficiently takes out one opponent coming unnoticed from Setrakian’s blind side. Another slips past Sandra Edwards’ guard making her give out an involuntary yelp. Lena turns to it, grips it by what’s left of its clothes and pulls it in close to her. She deftly puts her gun to the creature’s temple and blows the other side of his head off. Then she calmly grabs a  _strigoi_ tackling Reggie Fitzwilliam and twists its head around a few times before discarding it across the room.

However efficient Lena Bartoli is at killing _strigoi_ , she is only able to hold them off and maintain a stalemate rather than making noticeable inroads into the vampire offensive. Fortunately, she knows that reinforcements are on the way.

The first signs that the Force have arrived is the sound of a gunfight from outside, swiftly followed by a spray of _strigoi_ body parts all over the workshop as the attackers are cut apart by heavy gunfire. Coming in through what’s left of the side of Fet’s place is a squad of well-trained and fully equipped vigilante cops. The _strigoi_ that survive intact flee as if called off by their commander, which is probably what has happened.

‘Nothing like the cavalry turning up at the last minute,’ says Sandra, grinning up at one particularly imposing officer.

‘I think the cavalry showed up a little bit before that,’ says Gus staring in awe at Lena Bartoli. It looks like he’s developing something of a crush.

* * *

 

South East Flanders - November 1918

Eichhorst is woken by Tzeitel singing to herself as she enters to get hay for her horse. He watches her and listens and is captivated by the lovely Jewish girl.

Although her family appeared very well-to-do the previous night, she wears a simple dress this morning to tend to her mare and do other chores around the dairy.

Simple to the point of peasanty.

It is very, _very_ similar to the dress Eichhorst gave Sandra to wear in Berlin.

* * *

 

 


	3. The Breaking Of The Fellowship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreverhaven remembers rescuing an injured Eichhorst in Flanders and cornering an innocent and unprotected Abraham in Poland.  
> In the present, Team Setrakian breaks up.

 

Somewhere between the Netherlands and the United Kingdom - Present

A dismembered torso lies in a makeshift lead and silver coffin on the floor of the North Sea. Denied the release of death and unable either to communicate with his Master or to consume the blood he needs to heal his wounds, Doktor Werner Dreverhaven has been condemned to a personal hell of eternal boredom.

Oh, and the constant pain of the silver wounds that cauterised his stumps.

All that remains of someone who was beautiful in life and striking even in death, is a shrunken husk. Starved of his blood food, the bones and simplified organs show clearly through the ruins of his emaciated body...if anyone was there to see him. The greenish-white skin of a healthy _strigoi_ is now in parts as black as necrotic flesh and his eyelids have withered to nothing, leaving him staring forever at the never-changing vista of coffin lid. However, as the doctor’s beauty has diminished, his madness has increased.

And to be fair, he was pretty unhinged to start with.

A sadistic boy, the young Dreverhaven developed his cruelty and love of power throughout his education and early career to a peak of wickedness in the death camp run by his old cavalry commander. The Nazi high command allowed his vile experiments and the Master encouraged them.

By the time the Master’s elemental evil joined with and heightened his own, Werner was as deranged a predator as ever stalked under the sky.

* * *

 

South East Flanders - 1918

Days, possibly weeks after Hussar Dreverhaven left Lieutenant Eichhorst in the hay barn, he returns. Eichhorst is surprised to see Dreverhaven ever again and the boy is shocked to see the state of his commanding officer.

Dreverhaven stops dead at the sight of the older man stripped to the waist with his jacket draped about his shoulders for a bit of warmth. The lieutenant has a serious shoulder wound. It is cleaned and dressed and his left arm is in a sling.

Apart from some weight loss (and he’d not been a big man to start with), shadows under his eyes and a noticeable constriction of his pupils, Eichhorst seems to be thriving on the injury. He has colour in his cheeks and sits up straight and proud with an enigmatic little perma-smile on his lips.

‘I’ve come back for you,’ announces Dreverhaven after a few seconds studying the scene. ‘Come with me now.’

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Eichhorst states firmly, his smile unwavering.

‘Sir, you must leave with me now,’ says Dreverhaven more urgently. ‘The British are searching everywhere for the murderer of a search party sent to this area.’

This news galvanises Eichhorst. ‘My God Dreverhaven, this is terrible. Help me up.’

The boy does so gladly but is perhaps a little too hands-on.

Eichhorst struggles out of the barn door but instead of joining Dreverhaven in turning towards the road, he heads towards the estate house. Eichhorst’s legs are unharmed and he is surprisingly fast. Dreverhaven runs after him and eventually catches up and remonstrates with him.

Apparently, Eichhorst is intent on pounding on the rich Jews’ front door to alert a young lady to the dangers of discovery.

‘Are you mad?’ exclaims Dreverhaven, wrestling with him. He’s much bigger than Eichhorst but the older man is determined.

‘Lieutenant? Eichhorst?’ yells the boy, shaking him to try to get his attention. ‘Thomas?’ The impertinence seems to bring him back to now.

‘I won’t leave her, Hussar.’ Eichhorst is more lucid now. ‘I can’t come with you. I won’t leave Tzeitel. I promised her… especially now we’ve...look you have to go on alone.’

‘Tzeitel?!’ screams Dreverhaven. ‘A Jewess? You’re not sacrificing yourself for one of them, sir, I won’t have it.’

Eichhorst wriggles free and gets to the garden gate before Dreverhaven, who is now as fired up as his friend.  He is frantic and insistent. ‘She’ll just betray you, sir. They’re all the same. She’ll take whatever she can and leave you to rot. She…’

Eichhorst stops struggling long enough to pull his good arm back and land a heavy punch on Dreverhaven’s perfect jaw.

Dreverhaven blinks in shock but doesn’t go down. Instead, a nasty grin spreads slowly across his face. Eichhorst was almost as surprised as the boy so hasn’t got far when Dreverhaven barrels into his back, knocking him to his knees on the frozen ground. The boy pushes him down onto his face and digs hard into the injured shoulder, making Eichhorst cry out in pain. Dreverhaven is obviously enjoying himself a tad too much but he realises the noise will wake the Jews, so he grabs a handful of blond hair and bangs his officer’s face into an iron-hard puddle, knocking him unconscious.

When Eichhorst comes round, he is back in the barn. He is gagged with an old rag and hobbled by his own trousers, which have been pulled down round his ankles. His face is a bloody, swollen mess but his eyes, once they focus, are undimmed and snapping with promises of revenge. He is shivering and dripping wet and that weird boy is staring at him with an empty bucket in his hands and a hungry smile on his face.

‘You must come with me, sir,’ he starts conversationally. ‘I’ll crack you on the head again and throw you on the horse’s back if I have to but I’d rather you didn’t fight me all the way to Germany. At least leave the area until the search party activity dies down. Then you can return to her. Here write her a note...’ He produces a pencil and an old feed bill.

Eichhorst glares at him for a while and after trying ineffectually to attack Dreverhaven one-handed with the stubby pencil, he writes a long and impassioned letter. It is romantic and beautiful and heartfelt. Still hobbled by a cautious Dreverhaven, he pokes it under the bolt of the stable door of Tzeitel’s mare. He declines the boy’s offer of a leg up, hops ridiculously up the steps of a mounting block, and flops across his charger’s withers. He seems fully aware of the vulnerability of his position with his backside right under Dreverhaven’s grin.

It would be a fair assumption that Eichhorst’s intention is to leave the boy and return to Tzeitel as soon as his restraints are removed. And that Werner Dreverhaven will, at least temporarily, sorely regret the manner in which he saved his officer’s life.

As soon as the scary boy leaves, the horse pokes her head out of door again and finding something that smells of oats, she munches it. Her tongue slips in and out as she chews. Evidently, like a drunken kebab, it doesn’t taste as good as it smells.

* * *

 

Beneath the North Sea – Present

After decades with nothing to do but replay his existence over and over again, Dreverhaven tends to dwell on certain key events and players.

In particular, he often broods over young Lieutenant Eichhorst’s exhortation to improve his ability to identify his enemies. Unfortunately, in his current state, he lacks the clarity of thought to draw any rational conclusion.

* * *

 

Poland – 1944

The outside door of the workshop bangs open, making young Abraham Setrakian’s head jerk up from the design he is tracing on the wooden panel. There is clearly something in the style of this entrance to put the woodcarver on alert. Eichhorst never flings the door open with such gleeful abandon. He was more controlled.

Always controlled.

The Nazi almost skipping down the passage in his excitement, is the notorious camp physician, Werner Dreverhaven. Unfortunately, Abraham has his back to him and daren’t look up until it’s time to stand to attention.

Dreverhaven waves him airily back to work, places a black Gladstone bag on the end of the bench and plonks himself on his elbows beside Abraham between him and any tool that might be used as an improvised weapon. He is much _much_ too close and he does nothing but watch and examine and smile for a good ten minutes. Finally he speaks.

‘We have had some wonderful news in the camp this morning, Abraham.’

The Jew twitches to hear his name rather than number and this makes his visitor’s grin widen.

‘ _He_ knows your name too, Abraham Setrakian. Do you know mine?’

The boy hesitates but eventually nods. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Say it then.’

‘Doctor Dreverhaven.’

‘Werner.’

‘Doctor Werner Dreverhaven.’

‘Hmm.’ The doctor chuckles slightly and flips over onto his back. He examines Abraham’s face at extremely close range. The woodcarver tries to focus on his work but he can’t help flicking the occasional unsettled glance at Dreverhaven.

Dreverhaven’s manner is light and his face is smiling and open. If it weren’t for his reputation and an invasion of personal space that made Eichhorst appear respectful and standoffish, Setrakian could feel quite relaxed in his company.

‘You don’t look like a Jew, Abraham,’ says the doctor, getting a look of undisguised displeasure from the boy.

Dreverhaven is unabashed and continues, ‘Oh, don’t be insulted. I think you quite beautiful, actually: huge, long-lashed, dark blue eyes; strong cleft chin, high cheekbones…perfect little nose…’ the doctor reaches up and strokes it, making Abraham jerk away from the contact.

‘It’s an almost German face…But no one would admit to being a Jew if they were not, would they? So I must accept your word on the subject…’ the doctor seems to direct the next words to Abraham’s penis. ‘…mustn’t I?’

Abraham tries to move away but Dreverhaven’s hand snaps out and grasps a fistful of sleeve.

‘Let me share my good news, Abraham,’ he laughs. The friendly smile instantly turns threatening. ‘You really have no choice.’

‘You are aware of our commandant’s elevation to the rank of Standartenführer.’

Dreverhaven looks at Abraham apparently waiting for a nod, although there was no question.

‘We were informed at roll call last month,’ says Setrakian. ‘May I resume working, sir? He checks on my progress regularly.’

Abraham’s warning to the creepy doctor that he is under Eichhorst’s protection is clear but it just makes Dreverhaven burst out laughing.

‘That’s just it, _my_ A230385. He is travelling to Krakow as we flirt – to be presented with his new decoration by the Governor-General himself this time. You may not know that when he made Obersturmbannführer, the insignia were posted to him and his collar patches didn’t arrive. He only ever got the shoulder boards…and he wears them so proudly…isn’t he precious?’ Dreverhaven collapses into giggles at his CO’s earnestness.

The doctor’s mirth subsides as fast as it appears and he suddenly pushes Setrakian’s face down onto the workbench with one hand while running the other lasciviously over the curves of his rump.

‘I have two days with you at least, Jew,’ rasps Dreverhaven in his ear. ‘And in weather like this, they could get stranded anywhere between here and Krakow. This is happening whether you like it or not. Now, I can take my time…seduce you…’ he slowly pushes his tongue inside Abraham’s resistant ear and then gently nibbles the lobe. ‘Or I can enter you hard and fast and often…’ He pushes his pistol down the back of Setrakian’s trousers and the cold metal in his buttock cleft makes his back arch in shock.

‘But the exciting thing is that the decision is entirely up to me,’ says the doctor. ‘Your behaviour will have absolutely no influence on how I take you. You can fight me so hard that I have to tie you to the bench and I still might love you tenderly. Or…you might be the sweetest, most pliant creature in the world yet be brutally abused.’

‘Or it might be a bit of both,’ Dreverhaven leers. ‘I don’t even know myself, yet. Now…’ the doctor reaches in front of Setrakian, who is currently rigid with dread, and begins to undo the buttons of his trousers. ‘…whatever I do to you, you are to continue working.’

* * *

 

Fet’s Place, Richards Street, Red Hook, Brooklyn – Present

Eph and Zack follow the Force down into the workshop. They both look a little sheepish.

‘Where’s Mrs Goodweather?’ Setrakian calls out, barely looking up from Nora.

‘These boys chased her off.’ Eph smacks one on the shoulder with stilted (and obviously unrequited) friendliness. ‘Saved our asses that’s for sure,’ he adds, a bit too brightly. Zach gives him a look and no one’s fooled.

Team Sandra (or Team Hot Bitch, as Angel persists in referring to her) get a furious Dutch out of her cabinet and wash her face with emergency eyewash. Dutch is very sweary but still woozy and while everyone is distracted with her or Eph, Captain Lena Bartoli of the Force briefly tends to Nora’s broken leg. Afterwards there is less pain and bleeding than before. Gus doesn’t see what Lena did but he notices the results and whispers something to Angel.

He says to Lena, ‘Look, you’re injured.’ He points to her hand.

‘Not badly,’ she says, shrugging it off.

He insists on looking and after a short but hot discussion, she shows an inch-long clean slice on the palm of her hand.

Gus opens his mouth but Lena’s phone rings. The conversation is highly charged. Lena mouths to O’Keefe that it’s Steve Collins and while she’s distracted, talking to a distraught Sergeant Collins, Gus drops one of Angel’s silver knuckledusters into her unresisting hand and watches.

There’s no smoking, burning or flinching from Lena Bartoli.

When she finishes the call she notices and glares at the two Mexicans.

‘You thought I was one of these _things_?’ She flings the crucifix at them angrily. ‘Happy now?’

Then she calls across to her squad, ‘Collins’ wife has been nicked and he’s going to need help to do what’s necessary… I hate to ask, O’Keefe… but can you go help him out? I’d do it myself but I know Loretta.’

Zach’s ears prick up and he nudges Eph. ‘You’ve got a cure haven’t you, Dad?’

‘Seriously?’ says Lena. ‘A cure for the transformation into one of these …?’

‘… _strigoi_ ,’ finishes Eph. ‘Yes, well… no, not yet. It needs some work.’

‘He doesn’t have a cure,’ Sandra sneers. ‘He’s just deluding himself because his wife’s been turned. Nora says it’s just a slow poison. Your friend is going to die a slow and horrible death if you listen to him.’

‘Is that what you really think is going to happen to Eichhorst?’ snarls Eph. ‘Or do you secretly hope he’ll be cured and his dick’ll grow back?

‘You saw the feed the same as we did,’ she shouts, advancing angrily on Eph. ‘Eichhorst writhing in agony on his floor. That was because of me. That’s why he wasn’t here with _your_ wife. Because of me. _Your_ wife was the one leading the assault. That was because of _you_. We’ve been able to free Vasiliy tonight because of what _I_ did to Eichhorst. And why was he chained in Eichhorst’s dungeon needing rescuing? Oh yes…because of YOU.’

The accusations and exaggerated claims continue to fly in both directions. Some are valid but mostly it’s pure spite and common insults.

Eph accuses Sandra of being in love with Eichhorst.

‘If I were in love with him, why have I covered myself in silver tattoos?’ She retorts.

‘Er…because you’re _crazy_?!’

Angel makes himself comfy again. It was turning into a great evening. First the fracas at the end of that boring TV dancing show. Then the leading lady from that had turned up here in the gorgeous flesh. There’d already been a row between her and the doctor. Then a domestic drama between her and the other blonde followed by a big ole fight (that he’d survived so was calling a victory) and now there was another blow-up between Hot Bitch and the sarcastic doc.

If only they were speaking Spanish…

Well, the obnoxious doctor with the fruity kid and the talking vampire wife had got one thing right. Hot Bitch _was_ crazy.

The argument seems to be running out steam, into patronisation and passive aggression from Eph and the rehashing of old allegations from Sandra.

She accuses him (again) of putting everyone in danger and of being obsessed with Kelly (again) to the exclusion of all others.

‘You left Nora to the mercy of a bunch of _strigoi_ because of your “family moment”. Is there no end to your selfishness?’

‘Selfishness? I have a cure. I need to test it on someone and who better than Kelly?’

‘It’s not a cure. Why can you not face the facts?’

Eventually Nora interrupts, her quiet voice cutting through Eph’s and Sandra’s yelling.

‘Eph, listen to me. Please.’ She’s pale and sounds (and looks) bone weary but since Lena’s intervention, she’s no longer grey with pain. ‘She’s right. It _isn’t_ a cure and you _did_ leave me to die. You’ve made your choice…’

‘I made _my_ choice? What about her? Does anyone _really_ know what she’s up to? What her plans are? Especially about Eichhorst? She just struts in here out of nowhere and _demands_ that Eichhorst “is hers”, whatever _that_ means, and that you don’t destroy the Master until she’s dealt with Eichhorst and now a few days later, she’s calling the shots for this entire group. How do you know you can trust her? I’ve been in this struggle from day one and…’

‘Way I hear it,’ says Fet. ‘If you’d listened to the old man on day one, there would be no need for “this struggle” at all.’

Eph turns to Lena, desperate for an ally. ‘Are you and your cops under this woman’s spell as well?

‘No way, doc,’ says Lena definitely. ‘You come with us. You can use the forensics lab at the precinct. I might be grasping at straws but if you can cure Loretta, you’ll have done the whole Force a solid. We’ll keep her secured in a cell until there’s no longer any hope.’

‘I have laboratories at Finch Towers too,’ Sandra _nyah-nyahs_ at him. Then she turns to Nora and offers, ‘You can work on weaponising the _other_ poison there.’

‘I think I’m going to need a hospital first.’

‘I’ll get you an appointment with the finest orthopaedic surgeon left in New York City,’ Sandra boasts.

‘Yeah well, don’t come crying to me if anyone _you_ love gets turned,’ taunts Eph.  It’s all getting a little bit high school now.

‘Good luck checking on how your _slow poison_ works on Eichhorst without Cornelia’s tech skills,’ responds Sandra.

‘I wouldn’t come with you on a bet,’ Dutch slurs at her mother from the support of Fet’s protective arms.

Sandra ignores the sneer. ‘No. No. You’re probably safer in another building. That way it’s less likely our connection will be discovered.’

Gus slaps Fet on the back and says, ‘You and the princess can come with us, big guy. We got a sweet crib on the Upper East Side. Next to the river. Real high class. You’ll love it.’

‘Well, if we’re all sorted…,’ announces Lena briskly, ‘…we’ll be on our way.’

‘Wait,’ calls out Sandra. ‘Everyone needs a release buddy.’

Several male ears prick up.

Dutch rolls her eyes. ‘Do you ever stop thinking about sex?’

Eph doesn’t miss another opportunity to be patronising either. ‘I think there are more important issues to worry about than satisfying your libido, dangerous though it undoubtedly is.’

Sandra tuts. ‘No. I mean someone sworn to kill you, if you get turned.’ She addresses the next sentence to her allies. ‘Because we all know the Goodweather boys aren’t up to the task.’

Lena spots that it’s all about to kick off again and announces, ‘I’ll see it done.’ She looks at O’Keefe, turns on her heel and leaves.

‘And if you or anyone so much as thinks too loudly about Cornelia being my daughter, I will personally hunt you down and strap you naked to Eichhorst’s sex chair myself,’ is Sandra’s farewell message.

‘And I’ll help her,’ growls Fet in support.

O’Keefe takes Eph’s arm and drags him out with the doctor still snapping like an angry shih-tzu.


	4. Nasty Nazi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t really know how to approach the scene between Dreverhaven and Setrakian. In the end I’ve retained the usual present tense and most of the neutral POV with perhaps just a tilt towards how young Abraham perceives it, plus I haven’t really lingered over the details so I know it’s not terribly erotic. But it is an assault, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed trousers to pants this chapter because every Brit who watches television knows what ‘pants’ are but I think ‘trousers’ might grate with American readers.

 

 

* * *

Poland – 1944  
Abraham’s Workshop

‘I have two days with you at least, Jew,’ rasps Dreverhaven in his ear. ‘And in weather like this, they could get stranded anywhere between here and Krakow. This is happening whether you like it or not. Now, I can take my time…seduce you…’ he slowly pushes his tongue inside Abraham’s resistant ear and then gently nibbles the lobe. ‘Or I can enter you hard and fast and often…’ He shoves his pistol down the back of Setrakian’s trousers and the cold metal in his buttock cleft makes his back arch in shock.

‘But the exciting thing is that the decision is entirely up to me,’ says the doctor. ‘Your behaviour will have absolutely no influence on how I take you. You can fight me so hard that I have to tie you to the bench and I still might love you tenderly. Or…you might be the sweetest, most pliant creature in the world yet be brutally abused.’

‘Or it might be a bit of both,’ Dreverhaven leers. ‘I don’t even know myself, yet. Now…’ the doctor reaches in front of Setrakian, who is currently rigid with dread, and begins to undo the buttons of his trousers. ‘…whatever I do to you, you are to continue working.’

Setrakian twists away from him and lunges at his tools. ‘Then I’ve nothing to lose by killing you,’ he says brandishing a chisel in defiance.

Concern flashes across Dreverhaven’s face before he bursts out laughing again. ‘That’s it, Jew. I hoped you’d commit to this dance.’ He twitches his fingers in a subtle beckoning movement. ‘Come on then, lead if you can.’

Setrakian hesitates, realising that Dreverhaven’s military training and three squares a day would make him the almost certain victor, even without his sidearm.

‘At least I can hold you off…’

‘…until help arrives? Were you not paying attention?’

‘The guard on the door brings me food.’

‘Who do you think let me in? Face it, Abraham, your only hope is sitting in a nice warm Mercedes, speeding away from you with a smile on his face.’

Setrakian yells in desperation and charges him. Dreverhaven disarms him easily and pushing him face down again on the workbench, his weapon arm behind his back. He hears the chisel clink onto the floor and feels the doctor’s arousal pressing hard into his backside, the taller man’s warm body forcing Abraham’s stomach against the edge of the worktable. He pulls him away and chuckling nastily, he drags him towards the black bag on the end.

The next few minutes are a blur for Abraham, at the conclusion of which he is restrained by means of two dog collars around his neck with their leashes attached to either side of the table. He is at the end of the bench with enough play in his bonds for him to turn around and step from side to side but not to meaningfully escape Dreverhaven’s attentions. His hands are taped together with adhesive elastic bandage, almost as if the doctor wishes to protect them. And the laughing Nazi is taping his eyelids shut with the same bandage.

Worryingly, his mouth is left uncovered, but what Abraham isn’t expecting Dreverhaven to do next is kiss him. Tenderly at first, then more insistent as the doctor takes advantage of the boy’s surprise, thrusting his tongue between parted lips and preventing him from leaning away with one hand around his waist and one behind his head.

The Nazi breaks off eventually but Abraham can hear him breathing unevenly as he impatiently removes his leather apron and unbuttons the striped shirt.

Warm hands caress the prisoner’s emaciated chest and a half-choked growl escapes the doctor as he resumes work on the pants fastening. Abraham struggles ineffectually making a nasty laugh bubble up from Dreverhaven’s throat.

‘By all means continue wriggling, Jew.’

Young Setrakian doesn’t want to obey but he obviously can’t stand still and let himself be raped without a fight. He starts screaming and yelling for help but that just makes Dreverhaven kiss him again and it obviously occurs that there are worse things than a tongue that could be shoved down his throat. Besides, the doctor’s hand is inside his pants and having a good rummage.

Dreverhaven isn’t rough, in fact he’s lamentably gentle and very persistent. He soon has a grip on what might euphemistically be termed Abraham’s full attention. He carefully frees it from its nest of black hair and begins to rub and stroke. To the boy’s horror, he feels it stiffening. Dreverhaven chuckles briefly and the woodcarver hears a uniform rustling.

The doctor kneels down and softly kisses the tip of Abraham’s unwelcome erection. He licks around the head for a while, fondling Setrakian’s balls before sucking the whole cock into his mouth in one move.

Abraham gasps, which Dreverhaven takes as encouragement. The doctor pulls slowly away, maintaining the delicate tension and then, to his smug delight, the Jew’s bound hands lower to the back of his head and he begins to thrust.

It has been a long time since Abraham had either energy or privacy for this, so it doesn’t take long for him to reach his release. Dreverhaven swallows everything and then smirks to let Abraham know he’ll end up paying for that.

Holding the woodcarver’s shame-filled gaze, he gets to his feet and murmurs into a flinching ear, ‘My turn, now…’

He turns Abraham away from him and pushes his top down against the bench, forcing him to present his now-naked backside. There’s another growl of lust and he feels teeth sink deep into his rump. It’s not a gentle nibble of play and Dreverhaven’s jaws are strong. Abraham senses something warm trickling down the side of his leg. He yelps and begins to struggle again, even more frantically when he feels his buttocks being grabbed and spread apart.

Suddenly, Dreverhaven stops and whispers in wonder, ‘He hasn’t had you yet, then?’

He isn’t expecting an answer and he doesn’t get one other than some wild screaming.

‘More fool him,’ he adds curtly, roughly inserting a finger and wiggling it round inside him. The random squirming gradually becomes more methodical. And more stimulating – almost a massage and Abraham’s body begins to respond autonomically again. Dreverhaven doesn’t let him finish this time. At least, not yet, withdrawing and walking away towards his leather bag.

After a confusing few moments, Abraham feels his buttocks being pulled open again, then something cold and metallic is forced inside him. It’s thicker than a man’s finger but it is also slimy, presumably to reduce discomfort. The realisation almost shocks young Setrakian.

‘You are so tight and now it comes to it, Jew, I find I don’t want to hurt you,’ the doctor purrs, ‘At least…no more than I have to. This is called a speculum. Now, breathe in deeply…and try to relax as you exhale.’

Abraham obeys without thinking and as he breathes out there’s a click and the thing inside his passage opens a little, spreading him wider.

‘Again!’

There’s something about Dreverhaven’s voice that makes him difficult to disobey and Abraham guiltily finds that the sensation is not unpleasant.

The process is repeated, with Dreverhaven’s breathing getting more and ragged with anticipation, until the doctor is satisfied with the ease of entry. He slides the speculum out and takes hold of Abraham’s hips in such a way as to expose him fully as well as provide a brace for his thrusting.

Abraham is so sex-dazed by this stage that he is hardly aware of the outside door opening and an angry man sprinting down the passageway towards them, swearing, shouting and calling his number as if it were his name. He doesn’t realise that Eichhorst has returned inexplicably early until the commandant is ripping the tape from his eyes.

Dreverhaven has fled laughing and Eichhorst doesn’t pursue him, instead cutting Abraham’s hands free and waiting solicitously while the woodcarver removes the collars. The commandant says nothing but when his gaze falls on Abraham’s traitorous erection, his eyes flick up to the Jew’s with an odd expression in them.

‘I couldn’t help it,’ blurts Abraham, ashamed. He is finding the blue stare unbearable and turns away from it to bend down and pull up his pants. Unfortunately, this move puts his girlishly smooth, creamy-white backside directly in Eichhorst’s line of sight.

‘Wuh-uh,’ he cries as he’s pulled upright and thrown on his back on the bench.

Eichhorst is stronger than he looks, even as a human and now his face is so close, Abraham can smell the cigarette smoke as he hisses, ‘Give me a reason, Jew. Just…’ he casts about helplessly for the words. ‘Just give me _one_ reason.’ And then he’s gone.

Abraham’s eyesight is still a little blurry from the tape and he can’t be sure but it seems for a moment as if there were a tear in Eichhorst’s eye.

And one reason for what? Killing him? Finishing what Dreverhaven started?

Abraham gets back to work, determined to be useful and to take his mind off the horror of his situation.

* * *

Dreverhaven’s Laboratory – Cage Room 

Doctor Dreverhaven is furious, frustrated and nursing a raging hard-on. Eichhorst has thwarted him once again.

He roars into the room housing the captive experimental subjects and grabs the terrified man with dwarfism out of the cage he shares with a Roma woman.

Dreverhaven rapes him on a surgical table in full view of all the other prisoners (including the children) and then turns his attention to his cage-mate. He rapes her orally and when she vomits the faecally contaminated ejaculate, he pushes her face in it. Then he stomps out again.

Truly _Bubbeh_ Setrakian was right when she said that evil lurks in this world.

Its name is Werner Dreverhaven.

* * *

 

 

 


	5. Next Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandra makes good on her promise to Nora. Eph begins his work on his cure. Dutch and Fet check out their new home and Angel wonders about someone's allegiance.  
> In 1944, Abraham can't sleep and (after taking sensible precautions) returns to the workshop where a surprise awaits. Dreverhaven later reflects on his imminent transformation.  
> After the liberation of the camp, Abraham stumbles on an unlikely sanctuary and the newly turned Eichhorst and Dreverhaven pursue their first mission for their Master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this episode was going to be full of detailed encounters between Dreverhaven and various other people but when Werner’s Valentine flopped, I realised that Hot Dreverhaven was really just my OC and thus not interesting in and of himself.
> 
> Now though, I’m stashing those sex scenes away for later use as templates for Eichhorst action. Thank you saladmummy!
> 
> Sorry but I have just snuck in a little 300-word Hot Dreverhaven/Eva bit. It’s just a teeny little thing and easily skipped but it places Sardu’s sword cane in Dreverhaven’s house, which is where…Oh, but I’m giving away the plot! (In Cupid Stunt’s voice).

 

Lenox Hill, Manhattan – Present 

The FinchCorp town car pulls up at a large modern building. Its frosted windows are all alight and two-foot high neon letters declare that the Band Lilidear Veterinary Referral Center is OPEN… _flicker_ … CPEII… _flicker_ …OPEN. It’s quite tastefully done – all in blue with a veterinary Aesculapian staff in the middle of the text.

Oh, and the flickering isn’t constant, just a one-time only thing. Obviously.

There is some flustering in the reception foyer as Reggie Fitzwilliam gently lifts the injured Dr Nora Martinez out of the car. It seems one of the principals is being summoned.

Nora briefly opens her eyes and reads the sign. ‘He’s a vet?’ she asks, slightly concerned.

‘He’s a vet?’ Abraham Setrakian repeats with more anger. ‘The finest orthopaedic surgeon still operating in the city is a damned _vet_?’

A little fat woman with thick black-rimmed glasses and mahogany dye growing out of her mousy hair blinks tiredly at the group.

‘Well, I guess I used to be,’ she says. ‘Most days we just treat whoever shows up, no matter how many legs they have. And it’s generally just the two recently.’ She tries a smile but her face, like the rest of her, is too exhausted. ‘It’s amazing how fast other creatures are deprioritised when humans’ own lives are under threat.’

‘Really,’ says Setrakian cynically, ‘I find it depressingly familiar.’

* * *

 

Poland – 1944

Abraham can’t sleep and he can’t face the barracks monster tonight, not until he’s acquired a silver weapon. He knows that Eichhorst is on site and that the guard on the workshop has been changed following Dreverhaven’s unauthorised visit a few nights ago. He seeks permission from the barracks guards and is escorted to the workshop before dawn. Everyone in the camp is aware of the commandant’s impatience to get A230385’s special project completed, so the woodcarver’s enthusiasm is encouraged.

As they approach the workshop, the guard spots that the lights are on and that the night patrolman in charge of this building is not at his post. News like Dreverhaven gets around and the guard hesitates. As they linger around the corner, someone sneaks up behind them and lays a hand on each of their shoulders.

As Abraham and his escort leap in the air, startled, the workshop guard sniggers briefly and blows his cheeks out as he turns his attention back to the building.

‘Hasn’t he finished yet?’ he asks the other guard who regards him disapprovingly. ‘They’ve been in there for hours. And the noise! I’m surprised they haven’t woken the whole camp.’

While they’re distracted chatting, Abraham looks longing at the perimeter fence. But his attention is diverted when the lights are switched off and the door opens. They pull back into cover and watch the doctor leave the workshop hand in hand with a limping inmate. The overall impression the pair give is one of companionable exhaustion and satiation.

The guard escorting Setrakian swears and mutters to himself in German, ‘But there’s no one missing from the barra…’

Just then, a gust of wind blows the prisoner’s hat off, revealing long blonde hair. The inmate turns, laughing, to catch the cap and Abraham and his escort both gasp.

The person in the striped uniform is not a prisoner but a young woman. She is definitely Germanic looking in a way that has become very familiar to Abraham over the last few days. He’s never seen the features in such a feminine face but the angular jawline and blue eyes are unmistakeable.

‘Eva Von Croÿ,’ breathes the guard at his side in disbelief. The name means nothing to Abraham.

‘She wasn’t limping when she went _in_ to the workshop _,_ ’ sniggers the workshop guard. ‘I reckon he was using her as a substitute for Eichhorst’s pet here.’ He jerks his head towards an increasingly uncomfortable Abraham. ‘They say the frustration’s driving him crazy…well, crazi _er_. He can’t even smile at him these days without the commandant suddenly appearing between them.’

‘Ugh! Don’t know what he sees in him,’ says the escort, disgusted. ‘I wouldn’t touch a Jew with yours.’

When Dreverhaven and Eva are out of sight, the escort remembers his duty. He pushes Abraham roughly inside, grumbling to the other German, ‘I suppose I’d better stand watch with you, in case Dreverhaven comes back.’

‘He is one scary, fucking…’ says the original workshop guard, shaking his head.

‘Yes, but Herr Eichhorst is still in charge, Gruber,’ reminds the escort sharply.

When the prisoner is safely out of earshot, they start a conversation to stave off boredom.

‘Have you heard the rumours about Eva Von Croÿ’s natural father?’ asks Abraham’s escort.

Gruber nods and smiles slyly, ‘She looks so much like him. I bet that’s another fantasy of the doctor’s she helps fulfil.’

The escort is shocked. ‘You’re not saying that he...? Not the commandant as well?’

‘Like I said, one scary, fucking, weird piece of …’ he tails off as he lights a cigarette.

* * *

 

Poland – 1944  
Dreverhaven's house

Sardu’s sword cane can be seen in an elephant’s foot umbrella stand by the dressing room door, along with other items including his SS baton and dress sword, a lunging whip and some riding crops, walking sticks for the discerning gentleman and the cavalry sabre from the Great War.

The doctor dresses for the evening and contemplates the elevation to immortality the Master has promised him. He has made his peace with the loss of his sexuality. Indeed, the unrequited nature of his lust for Eichhorst's woodcarver (and the commandant himself) renders it something of a relief. Instead, he has decided to seek the next level, to try something truly new – new sensations, new desires… and new power. He grins evilly.

The only thing making it hard is little Eva. Sweet, young… _filthy_  little Eva Von Croÿ.

And she is making it _very_ hard…

He recalls pursuing her around her parents' mansion that first time until finally he'd caught her in the attic. In retrospect he realises he should have noticed that she fled  _away_  from all the guests who might have rescued her. And that she'd only kicked him in the shins rather than higher up. Aside from that, she'd fought him fiercely, scratching his face and biting his arm. She'd received some bruises in return but when he'd finally pushed her down and torn off her clothes, he was staggered to find her so very wet. The little wildcat had enjoyed the chase, the fight, the  _violence_  as much as him.

She'd pleaded with him to be gentle, said that she'd never been with a man before.

Her admission had arrested him. Her  _sub_ mission had melted him.

Well she isn't going to sidetrack him again. He will ignore her tonight. Cut her dead.

* * *

 

 

84th Precinct, Gold Street, Brooklyn – The Present

Loretta Collins is in a police cell, her husband Sergeant Steve Collins and children, Katie and Michael, are talking with her in a group effort to reassure each other. Other officers are modifying another cell for when her stinger develops.

In the forensics lab, a series of police officers bring boxes of equipment, notes, textbooks and chemicals to a stressed- and tired-looking Dr Ephraim Goodweather.  His son Zak is asleep on a campbed beside him.

One of the cops pauses for a minute to watch Eph mixing a few liquids together to make the original stock solution, known variously as “the potential cure” or “the slow poison”. She wonders whether they should continue their shoot-on-sight policy versus _strigoi_ in the light of a possible cure. Eph smiles at the confidence she has in him but cautions against getting her hopes up.

‘Might as well try it now though,’ he says and decants a little into test tube. ‘Watch my son, would you?’

* * *

 

 

East 73rd Street, Upper East Side, Manhattan

The tall, glass and chrome building is guarded inside and out by police officers in riot helmets as a boosted Volvo pulls up and disgorges Gus, Fet, Angel and Dutch.

Fet affably tries to speak to one as he passes, but Gus says, ‘No point, man.’

‘Huh, why’s that?’

‘Well, you know that locket that the princess’ momma had?’

‘Yeah?’ says Fet.

‘The part where it says all vampires are evil?’ says Gus.

‘What about it?’ says Dutch, suspicious.

‘It ain’t true.’

And on that bombshell, Gus leads the way inside, leaving Dutch and Fet staring incredulously first at each other, then at their security detail.

\---------------------------------------------------

Angel hobbles to catch up with Gus and, in the lift, they have a whispered discussion in Spanish, ‘This German vampire?’

Gus nods slightly and Angel continues his train of thought, ‘He kidnapped Hot Bitch when she was a little girl?’

‘Well, can’t think she was ever a _little girl_ , but yeah, why?’

‘And he held her captive for months on end?’

‘Yeah,’

‘Drank her blood night after night?’

‘Yeah man, what are you…?’ asks Gus

‘He killed her fiancé…this one’s father?’ Angel indicates Dutch and Gus nods, staring at him in puzzlement.

‘And her husband, that she loved?’

Another nod. Good job their apartments are high up and the lift journey is long enough for this conversation.

‘And the bastard husband, that she hated?’

‘Think so.’

‘And he’s the reason she let the bastard spank the girl?’

Another nod but Angel’s not waiting for them anymore. ‘And why she had to let her daughter leave home?’

‘Yeah, man, the German’s a piece of crap, what of it?’

‘So why does she need the engraving to remind her that he’s evil, huh?’ Angel looks significantly at Gus.

They lower their voices again because Fet and Dutch are glancing back and they obviously understand little snatches of Spanish.

Gus shakes his head. ‘You’re not saying…’

Angel gives him a look that says that yes, he is indeed saying…

‘No way, man,’ whispers Gus. ‘Not buying it. No cock, remember? And that lady…she like the cock, you know what I’m saying.’ He grins at Angel. ‘She like Mexican cock, too. Oh yeah. Gusto was in there, man. Uh-huh!’

Angel isn’t satisfied. ‘He got a mouth _full_ of cock, idiot. And ask any lesbian if a woman’s lover needs a penis to please her.’

He smacks Gus on the chest with the back of his hand to indicate that the prosecution rests and the lift door opens.

Inside, Gus shows the visitors the building’s amenities – including a rooftop gym and swimming pool - and finally their huge, luxury apartments, next door to each other and close to Gus and Angel’s quarters. While Gus is demonstrating/playing on the games console and Angel is pointing out the extensive Blu-ray library, Fet opens his minibar. Finding that it is, in fact, a maxibar, he whistles in appreciation.

‘EeeeYeahhhh! I’m callin’ this Friday!’ he declares gleefully.

He grabs a beer and invites the others to join him. Angel chooses a fancy-shaped bottle of tequila and tosses another beer at Gus.

Dutch rolls her eyes. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she announces. ‘Before you start getting all blokey and smelling each other’s farts.’

* * *

 

84th Precinct, Gold Street, Brooklyn – The Present  
The Cells

Eph advises the Collins children to leave and explains the risks. He’s not so bullish as when he’s defending “the cure” to Sandra or Nora. He says it needs administering in regular small doses, he thinks daily would be best considering how unpleasant the side effects are.

Loretta drinks the mix and promptly vomits it back up, so Eph fetches a tiny dose in a syringe and injects it intravenously. This throws her to the floor in a seizure and he has to run back up for some diazepam swearing to a furious Steve Collins that he’ll be better prepared next time.

* * *

 

Eichhorst’s Bedroom, Stoneheart Building, Manhattan

Eichhorst lies on his back in his coffin, his hands flat with fingers spread and crossed over his body, a bit like the New World Ancients. He twitches in his sleep.

* * *

 

Poland – early 1945

Dreverhaven and Eichhorst are having a stand-up row outside a dilapidated building. It is night time and both Nazis are turning into _strigoi_. They’re each losing hair in huge chunks, are very pale and their eyes and teeth have changed. The progression is more advanced in the doctor who is developing a noticeable wattle. This is much less visible in Eichhorst, who still wears the high-necked sweater from his escape.

Dreverhaven is still in his dress uniform and jodhpurs from the night of the Von Croÿ gathering. It is somewhat blood-spattered after the beating Eichhorst gave him for befouling and besmirching Eva Von Croÿ who he believes to be his daughter (and possibly for befouling and besmirching young Abraham as well). However, Dreverhaven’s face does not show any evidence of the injuries he sustained. Presumably, the Master healed him with White before turning him.

They are arguing about taking the Von Croÿ girls.

Eichhorst insists that they’d agreed to wear the make-up the doctor has far-sightedly prepared at his home - in order to avoid scaring the ladies. Whereas Dreverhaven, his stinger growling with desire, wants to take them right now and can’t understand Eichhorst’s consideration – or his patience.

The Master swoops between them and intervenes, saying that they’re brothers now and he backs Eichhorst. Or rather he commands them both to return to Dreverhaven’s house for his host’s, Jusef Sardu’s, sword cane. Once there, and once the sword is secure in their possession, he doesn’t care what they do with the lenses, dentures, wigs and makeup (and a cravat for the doctor, Eichhorst adds) although he is scathing about the human paraphernalia Eichhorst seems to believe so indispensable.

* * *

 

Poland early 1945

The newly escaped Abraham Setrakian stumbles over Dreverhaven’s house and enters, searching for supplies and a change of clothes.

In Dreverhaven’s dressing room, he finds warm clothing but can’t bear the smell of the doctor. As he turns to leave and explore the servants’ quarters, he spots a wolf’s-headed cane, which reminds him of a long-forgotten _bubbeh meiseh_ , a tale his grandmother used to tell him.

He folds onto the floor and weeps for her and for all the others he has lost.

 

_He’d better get out of there sharpish._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Sorry this is very rushed. I may zhoozh bits up and re-post later.


End file.
